


And Then There Were Five

by AnonAnton



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Engineer Dean, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Mechanic Dean, Meg is a space ship, Pilot Castiel, Pirate Castiel, Pre-Relationship, archibald the arthudaxe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 21:44:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10953321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonAnton/pseuds/AnonAnton
Summary: Dean is the best engineer on base, and his father keeps refusing his requests for off-world assignments. Pissed off with the same old-same old, Dean goes for a drink and meets a stranger who offers him a job on his ship. Things are harder than Dean expected, out there in space, but things soon take a turn for the strange. He is left with far more than he bargained for.





	And Then There Were Five

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shannon_Kind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shannon_Kind/gifts).



> Thanks to [Shannon-Kind](https://shannon-kind.tumblr.com/) and [The WIP Factory](http://thewipfactory.tumblr.com/) for the prompt!

“No, Dean! I don’t want to hear it! Your mother and your brother need you here. You have responsibilities. You’re the best damned engineer in the base! You are needed here. Your request is denied!”

Dean scowled, but bit his tongue. He couldn't fight with his father in public, not on this, not on an official transfer request, not on company time, in company uniform.

He grunted and turned away, refusing to salute John Winchester, General of Engineering.

“Dean!” the old man grunted, but Dean waved him off and stalked toward the bay where a class 24 Zyphur stood awaiting tuning. 

With a scathing look at her bulk, and instead of opening up her hatch to continue his work, Dean signed off for the day and slammed the side door shut, sending echoes around the sparse spaceship filled chamber behind him.

Five minutes later he stood at the bar in  _ Angela’s _ in the Rec; the building that housed all recreational activities on the base. Angela’s was a dive, but Dean hated the other bar, too clean and shiny for his tastes. “Hey Bill, just a whiskey, double.”

The Sylth nodded, his antenna bouncing, and he slid across a large glass, brimming with the amber liquid. 

“Dad refused your request again?” the bartender hissed, a sympathetic smile on his lips. Dean just nodded, patting down his regulation jumpsuit to find his wallet and his non-regulation pack of cigarettes.

“Yeah, the old bastard pulled the ‘family’ and ‘you’re too good to leave base’ cards. Like I don’t know that shit. But  _ he  _ knows I trained to leave Earth, for fucks sake.” He muttered the last, tapping out a cigarette from the pack. “Back in a minute, Bill, top her up will ya?”

The Sylth nodded and Dean slipped from the bar, heading to the strictly against regulations hideout behind the bar where Bill’s favoured customers could smoke their black market cigarettes. 

He took his time drawing breath, smoking his anger away. He felt impotent, stagnant. “Fuck!” he shouted, pounding his fist on the rough brick wall. He had thought that his application couldn’t have been refused. Not his time. Not when he’d applied through all the official channels. He was the best, that was the point! He ought to be out there, seeing the damn galaxy, saving people’s lives by repairing equipment on the fly. Not changing the damn propulsion interfaces in a hundred different models of Baltaine or relaying the cabling on every single pre-Taurus model Gulf.

His knuckles were bleeding. 

He huffed a sigh, throwing the cigarette to the ground, crushing the smoking stub with his heavy boot. “Fuck,” he whispered, seeing a future of endless days spent in Bay-9, endless weekends spent with his mother and brother, and endless meetings where his father would simultaneously build him up and put him down.

He pushed back into the bar, smearing the blood across his knuckles absently with his other hand.

“Thanks Bill,” he muttered and he leaned on the bar again, downing the second, full glass. Bill waved him off and topped his glass up a third time.

“Tough day?” a deep voice asked from next to him.

Dean didn’t move his head to his head to look at him, only raising his eyes from his glass, frowning hard. No one talked to anyone in Angela’s. It was practically written on the walls. Not unless it was a pickup line…

He tugged his lip to the side as he examined the man’s face. Blue eyes, hadn’t shaved in days, cheek bones high, lips plush. Not your average Thursday night gay barfly in Bill’s.

“Who wants to know?” he grunted. 

The guy shrugged, a half grin pulling his mouth to the side, as he returned to his beer.

Dean glared at him a little longer, but decided the guy might just have been ignorant of the  _ rules _ . He turned back to his drink, wondering if he ought to have another, or if he should return to his pod. He had to finish working on the Zyphur in the morning. 

“You in the market?”

Dean coughed, choking on his whiskey a little, as he turned, outraged, toward the smirking man. Dean stood straight and tall, towering over him. The guy didn’t even blink.

“I heard you talkin’ to Bill before. I need an engineer. Got a long run coming up, but my ship isn’t what she used to be.” The man straightened, and stood. He was almost as tall as Dean, with the infuriating grin still on his face. 

Dean realised he was still tense, readying for a fight at thinking he had been mistaken for a hooker. He let himself relax slowly, eyeing the stranger. He seemed to know Bill at least… Dean shot the bartender a glance and the man’s steady gaze was enough to know he wasn’t in trouble, but neither was he exactly among friends.

“I need someone on board,” he said more quietly, soberly. “I’ll be going past Summer’s nebula—”

Dean sucked in a breath at that. 

Summer’s nebula was a two week flight at Mark 8, and was rumoured to be one of the most beautiful sights in the galaxy, also one of the most risky. 

The Rax flew that sector. But there were also some of the most interesting, dangerous, and profitable planets there too. Worth the run for those who survived.

The man was watching him, but Dean refused to reply. Poaching company staff was an offence, going AWOL, even more so.

“Well,” the man announced, voice even more business-like than before. “Meg and I will be leaving at O-six hundred.” He nodded at Bill and strode away, leaving an empty glass and a painful longing in Dean’s gut. A longing for the stars.

“Oh, Meg’s the Yakima class in Bay 4. Difficult to miss her.”

With that, he was gone. 

“Friend of yours, Bill?” he threw at the bartender. Bill only smiled. 

-

The man had been right. ‘Meg’  _ was  _ difficult to miss. The Yakima class was painted to resemble a demon. Even the cockpit’s black tinted windshield made up her eyes. “Damn,” he muttered. Yakima class ships were  _ old, _ the man had not been kidding when he said he needed an engineer on board. If he had been working—officially—he would have condemned her. 

But he wasn’t. As far as the company knew, he was just missing. And he was about to board her for one of the most dangerous runs in the sector

“Isn’t she beautiful?” the mystery man asked, making Dean jump as he crept up on him on silent feet. 

He shrugged. “For a wreck, yeah.” 

The man laughed, and Dean’s breath caught. The guy’s smile was electric.

“I knew I liked you,” he said around the grin. “Come on, we have to get going. The flight window starts soon and I take it you only rigged a temporary black out on the surveillance?”

Dean narrowed his eyes, but nodded. “I’m Castiel, this, as you’ve obviously worked out, is Meg. Be good to her, and she’ll be good to us,” he said slapping her side before turning with a wink. “Hopefully.”

Dean let out a slow breath and wondered just what the hell he was doing. This Castiel could be anyone, anything, and he had practically agreed to be his own personal, private engineer. 

On board, he found Castiel in the cockpit, going through the engine checks. Inside, the ship looked a lot better, everything was tidy, clean and well oiled. “Where are the rest of the crew?” Dean asked, wondering if he should dump his duffel bag in the quarters and meet everyone else first, or attend to anything Castiel wanted doing.

“Huh? There is no other crew.” He said it blandly, as if Dean were the insane one for suggesting it, rather than Castiel for piloting a Yakima class completely alone.

“What?” 

“There is no other crew, just us.” 

“How in hell do you expect to pilot a Yakima alone?!” he exploded, dropping his bag to the deck.

The man shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out, huh?” he answered with a wink, before the bay door began to slowly slide open. He yanked back on the joystick and sent Dean to the floor with the acceleration.

-

Dean was beginning to think that there was something a little…  _ off  _ about Castiel.

After they had cleared the base, and left the atmosphere, Castiel had easily set in a course and left the controls to themselves. Dean had wanted to ask how he could leave such a ship unattended at Mark 4, but he decided to just shrug it off as Castiel showed him to his quarters. 

Dean had asked him what he wanted him to do, but Castiel had shaken his head solemnly and told him to just be available. 

He had seen him later when he’d been called for lunch—ship rations. Dean was already beginning to doubt the intelligence of accepting the strange man’s proposal. 

“We are running on autopilot at the moment,” Castiel had informed him over the gray gloop in their bowls, his face blank and calm. Dean had nodded hesitantly, chewing mindlessly. Yakima class did not have an autopilot for interstellar travel.

Not long after that Castiel had unfolded from his chair and returned to the cockpit alone. Dean had watched him go, a frown making his forehead ache. Castiel had seemed ill at ease, uncomfortable. Almost nervous.

The next morning, Dean had visited Castiel in the cockpit, bored and determined to see some of the stars that he had dreamed of. Castiel had greeted him with a grin, gesturing wildly to the endless black vista before them. “Is that it?” he’d asked, expecting a formal reply like he had given to all Dean’s questions since leaving Earth.

“At the moment it is,” he had replied instead, with a deadpan, innocent face, just the corners of his mouth quirking up, his eyes gleaming.

Dean had shaken his head in confusion and left him to his piloting.

Three days in, and Castiel’s changeable demeanor was beginning to get to Dean. 

A crackling hiss suddenly filled his quarters. “Dean!” came Castiel’s rough gasp.

“Cas?” he asked, wondering what had happened. He had never spoken through the intercom before.

“You gotta suit up. Now! Meg’s starboard engine is clogging—” Castiel’s voice cut off as an alarm began to wail through the crackling system. 

“Shit,” Dean muttered, Castiel’s words sinking in slowly. “Shit!”

Castiel wanted him to space walk and unclog a fucking space propulsion engine mid-flight! What the fuck had even got into it? “Fuck,” he hissed as he leapt straight from his bunk and down the metal tube of a corridor to the hatch nearest the engine.

-

“What the fuck, Castiel?” he asked, his fury just barely contained.

The wide, blue, innocent eyes turned up to him. Castiel remained silent.

“What the fuck! You couldn’t have gone round?!” he demanded, gesturing to the view, causing a loud squawk to sound into the room.

“You—you. What?” The man’s unexpected stutter, when he was usually so assured, whether being a smirking bastard, or solemn and earnest, threw Dean. Castiel was staring at the hand Dean was gesturing to the view with. “Y—you caught one?”

“No,” Dean scowled, “one caught me. The damn things live in space, following a goddamned comet, and you thought you’d fly through? What the fuck?”

Castiel’s eyes were still glued to the creature in his hand. Or, more accurately, clinging to his arm. It was about the size of a small cat. Brown, and all but ball shaped with the amount of fur on it. It had wings of fatty flesh, which ending in three toed hands. It was wrapped tightly around Dean’s forearm and was refusing to let go. It’s back legs were tiny, clawed and were clinging tightly to Dean’s shirt too. It’s face was disturbingly sweet, large eyes, tiny snub nose—until it opened it’s mouth. Row upon row of sharp teeth, and the open maw pushed the rest of it’s downy face up into the mane-like fur of its round body. It was basically a biting ball with furry wings and it had attached itself to Dean’s back as he had had to pull it’s brethren's mutilated corpses from the engine input valve. How a creature had evolved that could stand both space and an atmosphere, he could not even begin to guess.

How it had decided that it now wanted to remain in contact with Dean, and not put back into the vacuum of space, he simply unwilling to contemplate. 

“I—They’re—I thought it was a vapour trail,” Castiel said, eyes wide, still fixed to the now apparently sleeping creature. “It's a damn Arthudaxe. I thought they were a myth!”

Castiel looked up at Dean, his eyes practically aglow with wonder. “Shit!” he suddenly exclaimed, his face draining of color. “How many did I kill?”

Dean bit his lip. “Enough.”

Castiel nodded. “I, um. I have to—Can you— you might find something it’ll eat in the galley.”

Dean nodded, and hoisted his arm along with the Arthudaxe, turning down the narrow corridor. “Come on buddy, let’s let Cas do his thing, kay? Want some food? What do space fluff balls even eat, huh?”

It only opened one eye in response, before yawning hugely, making Dean jerk back from its huge mouth. 

-

“Dean, I wish to apologise for putting you through that earlier,” Castiel announced as he entered the galley. He was in his solemn persona, sober and quiet. He looked tired and drawn. 

“That’s okay, Cas, you didn’t know.” Dean frowned as he saw Castiel wince at the nickname. Dean didn’t get a chance to apologize though, the winged beast had rolled onto his back with a groan, and a surprisingly heavy thump as his wing rolled with him and slapped the table. 

“I—Will he stay?” The man looked hesitant, confused. And Dean wondered once again how the ship was being controlled as they hurtled through space, hopefully through no more ‘vapour trails.’

“Well buddy, I don’t think he wants to go, put it that way.” The creature yawned, and once its eyes were visible again, they closed. He began snoring, contentedly. 

“I had a crew mate once who looked like that when he snored,” Castiel said contemplatively. “He was called Archy. Archibald.”

Dean looked down at the lustrous, dusty, fur-ball that appeared to be grinning in its sleep, its fatty, furry wings spread wide and twitching as it dreamed of flying. “Archibald he is.”

Castiel looked up at him, his eyes gleaming a little, and he smiled wide.

Dean’s breath caught.

-

After that Dean found that Castiel spent more time with him. He sent him out to space walk four more times, and to crawl into the bowels of the ship twice to fix general wear and tear or damage caused by flying too close and too dangerously to—pretty much anything that took Castiel’s fancy. Dean stopped bothering to hold back from shouting at Castiel when he took such risks after the third time. 

Archibald learned to crawl, and followed Dean everywhere, flying alongside him when he space walked. He ate everything, but after one particular space walk Dean worked out that he was designed to filter space dust for irradiated particles from wide antenna he kept furled at all other times. 

Dean became more and more suspicious of Castiel’s strangely shifting personality.

-

“Cas!” he yelled, letting him know their rations were rehydrated. 

“I’m here, Dean,” he answered quietly, walking through the hatch. Sober today then, Dean thought. “Did you manage to repair that cracked ball bearing?”

Dean looked up and winked, making Cas’ cheeks flush red. It was a talent Dean had only just discovered. “Of course. You did manage to abduct the best engineer in the fleet after all!” He winked again, and returned to spooning the slop into his mouth. He had replaced the ball bearing, but it hadn't been easy. Dean was learning that working on spaceships in normal gravity, on Earth, with every tool available, and staff on hand, was a damn sight easier than fixing things on the fly, as they literally flew through space. If he got it wrong he could kill them both, or send himself off into the endlessness of space, or—

Archibald growled and slapped his calf with his wing. “Okay, okay,” he muttered as he leant down and scooped the fat lump off the ground. He began to make his weird chewing—growling noises, that Dean suspected were an Arthudaxe version of a purr.

Castiel huffed a laugh, his face breaking into one of his soft, genuine smiles. Dean couldn’t help mirroring it as their eyes locked, Dean’s hand tickling the ridiculous creature’s belly.

When I realized there wasn’t a crew on board,” Dean began, keeping his eyes locked with Cas’, “I didn’t think I was going to cope, y’know? But now there’s the three of us here, this trip ain't so bad,” Dean said quietly, hoping his honesty would open communication between the two of them even further—for all his changes in mood, Dean liked Castiel.

“Four of us,” Castiel corrected, his expression unreadable.

Dean frowned, then snorted out a laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry Meg,” he said loudly, patting the hull closest to him with a smile.

Castiel’s expression soured. “I have—”

He didn’t finish his sentence before he was up and through the hatch, his meal hardly touched. Dean sat still for a long, long time trying to work out what he had done wrong.

-

They spent the remains of the week in silence, unless Dean had to fix something. He hardly saw Castiel. They passed Summer’s nebula in silence. Dean had no one but Archibald to share the sight with. They landed at their destination in silence, loaded the cargo in silence, refueled, took off and began the return trip, all in silence.

-

“Dean!” Castiel’s voice shot through the intercom jerking Dean awake. 

“Wah?”

“Get to the sub, Now!”

Dean froze, feeling as if he had been doused in cold water.

The sub. The sub-cockpit. 

The gun turret.

They were under attack.

He threw the covers off and, in only boxers and a t-shirt, ran from the room, Archibald’s perplexed face still nestled in the blankets.

He flung himself down the ladder, along the corridor and into the turret’s seat. Immediately he saw just how much trouble they were in. 

Summer’s nebula was only a small smear of light in the far distance. Before them was a horde; an armada of ships. 

_ Company  _ ships. He had expected the Rax if anything, not the company… 

“We’ll never make it,” Dean muttered under his breath. 

“That attitude never got anyone anywhere, Dean, “ Castiel’s deep, confident voice came through the intercom. 

”Buckle up, take out as many as you can, I’ll, um… The other gun will, uh, fire too. Fixed. Whatever, fuck it.” Static filled the line, and Dean would have called out in confusion but just then, three things happened. An alert sounded, wailing the fact that an air lock had been opened, the array of company ships began the official attack maneuver no. 3, and the ship lurched so hard to starboard that Dean was thrown into the wall of the turret.

He forgot everything else and began pumping the controls, aiming to incapacitate, not destroy.

“Cas?!” he yelled after five solid minutes of gut wrenching maneuvers. His fingers were already aching from firing. He could see the fleet reforming, setting up for attack No. 8.

“Not good, not good,” he muttered. “Cas!”

“He can’t—shit, uh, yeah? Little busy here!”

“You need to loop underneath! It’s the only way out of this!”

“Fu— Okay,” Cas was muttering. “Shit! What was that?”

Dean had no idea what he was talking about, he had his sights set on another engine. Cas was an astounding flyer—Dean was surprising himself with his own shooting. The other gun turret, considering it was fixed, was hitting as many of the company's ships as his own was. 

“No!” he heard screamed through the intercom, less than a second before he felt the hit on the other side of the ship. It was a miracle they hadn’t been hit already, with shots flying past them in all directions.

“Cas we’re okay, ten o'clock!” he spat out, getting no reply, but being pushed to the right as Cas swung the ship about, making for the gap in their defences. 

“What?” Dean muttered as a blur flew past his cockpit. “Was that—?”

He blinked and focussed once more on the company ships out there. He rotated the turret, now shooting to every side. “Shit, the other turret must have got hit,” he said aloud as he noticed that his was the only stream of shots leaving their ship. 

The brown blur shot past him again, this time with an electric blue glow from its front, lighting Archibald up. 

Dean froze.

He remembered the air lock alert. 

Archibald had a piece of engine in his mouth.

He was eating their enemy.

God, he hoped it was the enemy he was eating.

With a new vengeance, he started firing at full tilt, recklessly aiming for anything that moved in his sights, any ship—they had to make it out alive—

Dean conveniently forgot that not three weeks ago he had been a company man.

His new friend—not friend, depending on his mood, was clearly a pirate.

“Hold on,” Cas grunted—

And Dean felt as if his insides had been pulled out and shoved back in, inside out.

“No! Archy!” Dean yelled as he realised what had happened. 

Castiel had sent them through a rift.

A rift—that rare and short lived space-event. A black hole that lasted only seconds. And Archibald was outside.

“I know,” Cas’ voice was broken. “But I had to get away from them. I cannot let them capture us.” and with that the line went dead.

Dean slumped in the chair, listening to Cas’ feet from the level above clattering over the metal floor and down the ladder, and to the right, into the other gun turret.

“Cas, Cas!” he heard muttered.

Dean froze.

“Please, you can’t die, what will I do?”

Dean, his chest hurting from losing Archibald, couldn’t help but crawl out of the gun turret, his fingers bleeding, his back aching, his shoulders bruised.

On the other side of the corridor, spanning the ship, crouched Castiel.

In his arms pulsated a dull blue light. 

It hurt Dean’s eyes so much that he hissed and ducked back out of sight. 

A thump sounded, unnatural in the eerie silence of the space beyond the rift. A yowl followed the thump, muffled and oh, so familiar.

Dean was up the ladder without a second thought, ignoring the… thing that Castiel held.

At the air lock—that was not locked, simply closed and held with the vacuum within—Dean stopped. 

“That better be you Archy, you stupid fluffball.” He locked the door properly, glad the fail safe he had fixed the previous week had worked, and opened the outer door. Archibald zoomed forward, his terrifying mouth open in a grin, bits of engine stuck between his teeth, and he thumped right into the reinforced glass of the inner door. 

“Hang on, hang on you idiot,” Dean muttered fondly, voice breaking as he tapped in the sequence to clear the air lock. Archy dropped to the ground as the gravity took hold with a solid thump and squeak. How the little monster had managed to make himself heard through the hull of a spaceship,  _ in  _ space, no less, he gave up wondering. 

“Come here!” he cried as the door slid open, and Archy scrabbled on his stumpy back legs into his arms, climbing up him until his wobbly wing-arms were tightly wrapped around his face. He stank of highly volatile fuel and fumes, but Dean grinned and stroked his head-come-body.

“Thanks buddy,” he swallowed hard, knowing exactly what they owed the weird little creature. “Come on, wanna go see what the hell that was in the gun turret?” he asked, suddenly remembering the painful glow.

-

“Cas!” he yelled as he slid down the ladder again, his vision obscured by the purring Arthudaxe. 

“Cas?” he asked as he got to the bottom and found Castiel, glow gone, lying flat on the cold metal floor.

“I—I’m alright,” he coughed.

“Shit, you were fine a minute ago, what the hell was that glow? Did something get in? Or leak? Or—”

“That glow,” Cas said weakly as he reached up and scritched Archibald above the eye socket. “I’m glad you made it back, Archy,” he muttered before continuing. “That glow was me.”

Dean frowned. “What?”

Castiel sighed deeply. “Can—can you help me up? I was alone—separated too long. And I got hit. I’ll be okay in a few hours.”

Dean frowned but looked up. The was a plug in the cockpit’s shield, another failsafe that worked just as it was meant to. “Sure, thanks Meg,” he whispered the last, patting the floor before he heaved himself up, dragging Castiel with him. 

He didn’t understand. Castiel had been on the floor above, flying Meg. If something had been in the cockpit that was hit, it certainly hadn’t been Cas.

“Can you climb?” he asked, and Cas nodded. Somehow, with Dean staying close behind in support, he and Castiel got to the main level and to the galley. Carefully he lowered Cas into a chair and unpeeled Archibald from his face, plopping him in his spot at the table.

Suddenly, he became aware that he was still only wearing his boxers and a thin t-shirt, and he sat down self consciously, Cas’ eyes following him. 

Dean crossed his arms, determined to hear Castiel’s tale, all of it. Why the company were really after him, why there had been a huge blue glow in the cockpit—

“I’m not human.”

That had not been what Dean had been expecting and although he felt his jaw drop open, he was unable to prevent the expression. Even Archibald seemed frozen in surprise. 

Castiel sighed.

“I’m Hygeloid.”

“Hygeloid.” Dean got up and started pacing the room. “And you thought  _ this  _ guy was a myth?!” he asked amazed, pointing at Archibald, “What about you?! Jeez!”

Hygeliod were rare—so rare that most people did not believe they had survived when their planet had been absorbed by their sun…  _ millennia  _ ago.

“But that means—”

Castiel dropped his head, his eyes downcast, and fingers rubbing across Archibald's domed back. He nodded his head slowly.

“Fuck! No wonder you’re a changeable bastard! And when I said—! And the company!”

Dean grinned, pleased to have so many revelations at once. Castiel—well, he would return to  _ that  _ in a minute, looked up at him wide eyed.

“Cas, just tell me— You’re not transporting anything…  _ bad,  _ right?”

Castiel bit his lip, but shook his head. “I have a contact on Earth. He’s taking the next leg of the journey to Rollander-4.”

He didn’t need to say anything else. Rollander-4 was a huge planet, whose sun was starting to go super nova, just like Castiel’s own sun had done, destroying his home world, and making him an outcast, long before he had even been born. 

If it wasn’t rations in the hold, it was likely to be compressed water pods, shade-aids, or even rescue packs. The company had abandoned the evacuation of the planet, citing cost. Rogues, like Castiel, were trying to help. With a rescue pack, a family or group could survive in a sealed unit for weeks, only awaiting pick-up by a transporter. They were easily hooked onto the base and flown off world. 

Dean let out a breath.

That too, would explain the company. 

If Cas truly were Hygeloid…

The company searched for the rarer species and creatures, minerals… anything that could aid the company's expansion and colonisation of worlds. The spread of humankind. 

Hygeloid were a race of two consciousness inhabiting one body. The vessel; the humanoid creature that walked and talked. And the—for want of a better word—parasite; the gaseous being that thought and controlled the body… 

But as far as Dean knew it was not a passive/controlling relationship. They lived in harmony; communicated, thought and felt together.

“I will take you back. I only ask that you please do not share my secret…”

He looked dejected and hopeless. Dean wondered how long he had survived like this. No wonder he hadn’t been forthcoming with the friendliness at first. And once he had put himself out there, and Dean had accidentally shut him down—that must have been a wake up call for him.

“Can I ask which of you is Cas?”

Castiel’s face was shocked, appalled, horrified and… hopeful.

“That’s not really—um. Castiel—I, who am currently speaking with you—I am the Tolth; the glow. Jimmy,” and here Castiel’s face morphed into something unbearably soft and gentle. “Jimmy is the Fald; the vessel. He would speak with you while I flew the ship. Now? We are adrift. I manned the gun as Jimmy flew. He is the better pilot, but he wanted to… he wanted to speak with you on occasion—”

His cheeks grew red.

“Hey Jimmy,” Dean said quietly. Castiel’s head shot up, eyes wide. Dean remembered it was supposed to be customary to behave as if the host, the vessel, no longer existed.  But Dean had met him, talked with him, albeit, unwittingly. He deserved recognition.

Castiel smiled, eyes watery. “He wishes to let you know that he was glad to have met you.”

“Cas, I’m glad I met both of you. Your secret is safe with me, you gotta know that. Yours and this little monster’s too,” he finished, rolling Archibald into his back and rubbing his belly. “But, how are we gonna get your cargo home, huh? And… How did you even know the rift was there?”

“I told Jimmy. Unbound, I can see—more, than you can.

“We wait, until the rift opens again, and it’s safe, and we make an exchange on the edges of the solar system. This isn’t the first time we’ve been rumbled. It’s not the first time we've had to repaint Meg.”

Dean nodded but frowned. When Hygeloid bound they became one… “We?”

Castiel sucked in a breath and bit his lip.

His eyes glazed over briefly, before he nodded his head slightly and let out the breath. “Jimmy and I found each other late. We are getting rarer, Hygeloid. We are born as separate entities, our vessel mother births a new vessel and the glow will birth too; their own separate offspring. The two children do not bond. We must find our...destined. Jimmy and I found each other only nine years ago. We do not have… a conventional… relationship.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. They think and  _ feel,  _ together. 

“Okay,” he said, trying to absorb  _ that  _ bombshell.

-

“Cas?” he whispered, shaking the lightly snoring form in the pilot's chair.

“Cas, wake up, I reckon the rift is open.”

Castiel make a deep groaning noise of protest. “Whhyyyy?”

“Uh. I don’t know why it’s open, but if I’m, well, if Archy is right, then we should move. We can drift on the other side and at least we’ll be in the right sector.”

Castiel snorted, but looked down to the Arthudaxe wrapped tight around Dean’s arm. He was snorting and flapping his flabby wings, one at a time as he clung on, in the direction they had come from.

“Fuck, he’s right,” Castiel said a moment later, fully awake.

Within seconds the ship was moving forward, throwing Dean into the co-pilot’s chair with an undignified yelp.

“Why aren’t you ever dressed properly?” Castiel complained when he had shut off Meg’s systems moments later, the instruments showing that they were in the sector they were supposed to be in. The blackness of space was devoid of the company’s ships.

“Hmm? Oh, I don’t tend to bother dressing when I wake up with an enemy fleet firing on us or a screaming Archy licking my face.”

Castiel huffed out a laugh, then began full on chuckling, a grin stretching his plush lips wide. Dean finally allowed himself to think just how beautiful he was. 

“Thank you Dean, and thank you Archy, you really are the best creature I’ve ever accidentally adopted.” Archibald made an undignified squawk. “Only—the only creature that has ever been adopted, of his own volition, onto my ship.”

Archy purred.

Dean found himself melt with Castiel's honest, soft smile.

“I should, um. We, Jimmy. Um.” 

Dean snorted. “Don’t get confused on my account. ‘I,’ ‘We,’ whatever, I understand.”

Castiel nodded, biting his lip. “In that case, I'll go to bed,” he said.

Dean clapped him lightly on the back with his Archy-free hand and listened to Castiel go as he stared into the blackness of the company-free space, eyeing the bright pulse of Summer’s nebula in the distance.

“One week to go, Meg,” he whispered, patting the pilot’s chair.

-

“So this is it?” Dean asked, his lungs feeling full of water or the cold pressure of space, rather than the washed air circulating in the mid-space ship to ship airlock.

“I guess so. I can take Meg to a friend who will re-paint her. And, um, you did a great job. Repairing her. And, your family will be missing you.” Castiel looked down, that downturn to his beautiful lips unbearable. Dean had the strangest feeling that he was about to leave behind a more important family. “Um, our, uh, friend wishes you a safe trip,” Castiel finished, his voice cutting off lamely.

Dean nodded, choked. Before he could think twice, and with the new captain’s toe tapping behind him, he pulled Castiel into a hug. He didn't want to let him go, they had only just made friends, he had only just discovered things about the man. He didn’t want to lose his friend—friends. Cas, Jimmy, Archy  _ and  _ Meg.

But he had to. The cargo had to make it to its destination, Cas needed to go to ground and get safe. And Dean? Dean had to face his father, lie about his absence, and pick up his life where he left off, because there was no way he could become a pirate, like Cas, could he?

“Goodbye Castiel,” he whispered into his ear. “Goodbye Jimmy.

He looked into his friend’s eyes and, feeling a wrench in his gut, he crushed their lips together, trying to impart even an ounce of emotion he felt into a first and final kiss. 

He turned. He left. He heard the door shut behind him.

He returned to Earth, his father, his family, his responsibilities. 

-

“Dean? Dean!” 

Dean awoke groggy, wondering if his father was ordering him to do some emergency work in the middle of the damned night again, just like he had three weeks ago, when that Gulf had come in just after his trial had finished. “Wah?” he finally croaked out around the insistent shaking and the hands on his shoulders.

“Is that how you always wake up?” Castiel’s hushed voice asked, sounding amused. Castiel’s—

“Cas?” Dean yelped, sitting bolt upright. 

“Uh huh. I, um. Well,  _ we're  _ abducting you. I left a ransom and everything, to make it look realistic. That’s uh, if you want,” he shrugged.

Dean began to grin, slowly, taking in his friend’s face, his wide eyes, his wild hair and his shy smile.

“Damn I missed you. Both. You stupid bastards.  _ And  _ Archibald! Let's go!” he threw his covers off, awake, excited.  _ Thrilled. _

“Not that I… Can you… Just put some pants on Dean.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
